22. Paolo

CHAPTER 22

PAOLO

B y the time we finish up our pizza, the afternoon is drifting on towards the evening. I pay the bill, and as we’re walking out, Chloe sighs dreamily. “That was probably the best pizza I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

“We know how to do it around here,” I say. “Once you’ve started enjoying Bellamari food, it might be difficult to go back to American cuisine.”

“I’m already dreading it.”

“You don’t have to.”

I want to say, You could stay here with me , but that’s a little bit too much like a confession, so I keep it to myself.

“Let’s go to the history museum,” I say instead. “There are all sorts of interesting artifacts from all over Europe. They close soon, so we should go now.”

“Sounds good,” she says, grinning. “But only if you promise to try and recreate some of the statues again.”

“Deal.”

We turn down the main street, and I look at her. “You know, this is the most fun I’ve had in ages,” I say, putting my hands in my pockets to stop myself from taking hers.

“I hate to say it, but me too.”

“Why do you hate to say it?”

She shrugs and looks away.

We keep walking, and a few strides later, she adds, “I’m supposed to be angry with you.”

“ Are you angry with me?”

She doesn’t answer, and I don’t push it. It wasn’t a no. And right now that’s good enough for me. As long as she doesn’t hate me outright, I’m happy.

The line for the history museum is long, and as much as I want to use my royal credentials to skip it, I know I can’t. Today we’re being normal, and one of the worst things about being normal people is the amount of waiting you have to do to get anything.

How do people stand it?

My face is sweating from the heat, but I don’t dare take my cap off. For a second, I remove my sunglasses to wipe my eyes. And that’s when I hear someone say, “Oh, my God, is that Prince Paolo?”

My blood runs cold. I shove my glasses back on my face, grabbed Chloe’s hand without waiting for permission and pull her away. “Come on. We have to go.”

“What’s happened?” she asks, her mouth wide open in surprise. “Paolo, what is it? Are you okay?”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, too harshly. But she can probably feel my hand sweating in hers, my heart racing. “Just don’t say anything. Let’s get out of here.”

Without any more questions, she lets me pull her away.

I keep checking back over my shoulder to see if we’re being followed. Not that I would be able to tell if we are. There are people everywhere, walking in our direction. The paranoia is making everyone a demon. Any person who even glances at us as could be a threat.

And if we get caught…

It’s bad enough that I’ll have to face the consequences. I can’t bear the idea that Chloe will have to suffer for my mistakes too.

I can see the papers now. Paolo’s Secret Wife! The media whirlwind she would get swept up into would be no joke, and she’s got no training to deal with it, no experience. She doesn’t even want any of this.

“Paul, what is it?” Chloe asks.

Despite the fear flowing through me, I feel a rush of affection again as she uses my pseudonym. It’s not that different from my name, but it’s different enough that it cools my panic. And it’s the fact that she thought of it that matters.

“Someone saw me,” I breathe. “Someone saw me and knew who I was. And now they’re following us.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her fingers tightening around mine.

“Sure enough. We have to get out of here.”

“Let’s just go back to the car,” she says calmly. “We can go home. I’ve already had a great day. The car’s in the central lot; it can’t be far.”

“There’s no easy way back, though. Not one where we can avoid everyone. People are going to see us. We’re going to get caught. My parents are going to find out I lied again, and I’m going to get kicked out of the country all over again.” I grow more and more frantic as I speak, my throat closing up with panic.

Nothing about this is good.

Some people pass by and stare closely at us, and I flinch, turning my head away. It’s way too hot for me here.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“You must know some other way back. Something more hidden,” Chloe says, tugging on my hand to try and get me to slow down. “At least let’s just go somewhere to lie low for a bit. If people are following us, they’ll get bored eventually.”

“Okay, okay. Good plan.”

Someone points at us, and I pull Chloe down an alleyway, both of us pressing in tightly against each other as the space narrows.

I shift my weight from foot to foot, waiting and waiting until it becomes agonizing.

“Are they gone yet?” I whisper.

She hesitates, and I can tell she’s trying to stop herself from saying I don’t think they were following us to begin with. I don’t care if she thinks I’m being paranoid. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s got married to the most notorious person in all of Bellamare.

Everyone has an opinion about me. There isn’t a single person who would be shy to share it if they saw me. Bellamari people don’t believe in dishonesty.

She might think I’m this cool guy, but the truth is I’m just the loser prince that everyone hates.

The last thing I want is for Chloe to get caught up in that mob.

She cranes her head to try and look around the wall, and I pull her back, our bodies bumping against each other in the narrow alleyway. She looks up at me pleadingly. “They’re gone,” she says gently, keeping eye contact. “Let’s head back.”

“Just a few minutes longer,” I whisper, placing my hand on the wall next to her like a barrier.

She stares up at me. We’re so close that the heat of her skin radiates out to me, washing over me like sunlight.

“Paolo, it’s okay,” she says, placing both hands on my shoulders. “We’ll just go back. I’m sure there’s all sorts of rumors on the internet all the time. No one will think you broke any rules. It’s all going to be okay.”

Her hands on me are like comforting anchors, pulling me back down to the ground.

Without thinking it through, I reach out and brush my thumb over her cheekbone. How can I possibly start to tell her what she really means to me?

How can I possibly explain all the ways she’s changed my life?

“You okay?” she asks, staring deep into my eyes.

“Yes,” I say quietly, and mean it.

Then I place my other hand on the other side of her face and lean in to kiss her deeply. And just like in the garden, my heart soars again, racing with the certainty that this is right. This is good.

She’s wrong if she thinks I don’t care for her. I do. I care more than I ever cared about anyone before. There’s something inside us that matches so perfectly, something that connects us so deeply that letting go of her feels like ripping a part of myself away.

My heart beats in double time as I realize she’s pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. Her hands are tight on me, her body pressed up close to mine. Her hips bump against me like she’s trying to find something to grind up against. I’m dizzy with the sensation, dizzy with the idea that she wants me.

I feel sick and crazy all at the same time.

I never want to like anybody else. Only her.

In that moment, as the world freezes around us, everything is clear. I need to find some way to win her back. I need to prove to her that this love is real.

I need her to be my wife — for real.